Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“That’s where he went,” I say vaguely, hoping she’ll understand that I’m talking about Cal. “I think they’re all up there somewhere.”
“You think they’re…here? In the house?”
I nod, and her lips suck into her mouth with a healthy mix of fear and curiosity. My mixture leans a little more heavily toward terrified, but compared to the others, who are still gabbing like this is a day camp for wealthy girls, she’s practically panicked.
I can tell by the look on her face she’d love nothing more than to come to my room for a little while to talk, but the security ogres make it clear that’s not an option. A guard stands by each of our doors, waiting for us to arrive before double-checking the ID bracelets they gave us and letting us inside.
It’s solo time, plain and simple. Or, you know, a fancy prison.
Abigail is far too gracious for my liking when she asks her guard for permission to come back into the hallway to give me a schedule. He nods, reluctantly, and she thanks him like he’s doing her a favor.
I can’t, for the life of me, comprehend how they got all these women so trained to think this is good. To have them thanking the damn security guards for allowing basic human rights!
It’s preposterous.
“Here you go,” she says, smiling brightly as she hands it over to me.
“Thanks, Abigail.”
Hillary glances back from her spot down the hall before going into her room, and I give her a subtle nod to confirm we’ll figure out another time to talk.
“Go on,” the security guard urges when I guess I linger just a little too long. “To your room, please.”
I swallow hard before nodding and complying, walking swiftly down the long, wood-walled, vaulted hall to the very end. My room is the last on the left, and at my door, security is ready and waiting. I pause briefly to scan the two-story ceilings for something nefarious like cameras or hidden doors, but when I come up empty and my guard starts to frown, I step inside.
He pulls a key out of his pocket as he’s closing the door, and a wave of panic so strong I can’t fight it washes over me. “Um, excuse me? What are you doing? Are you locking me in?”
His smile is not at all comforting as he snorts. “Trust me, honey. I’m doing this for your protection.”
Without waiting for a reply, he shuts the door in my face and turns the lock with a click, and my throat closes so hard I can barely find the air to breathe.
Locking me in for my protection?
No free will whatsoever?
Another party tomorrow night, but this time, add in some vampires?
Ha. Ha-ha-ha.
Dear God. What in the world have my parents gotten me into?
Cal
As the women leave the room following the announcement from the president of the Council, I walk away from the mirror and loosen the knot on my tie slightly. The choker is uncomfortable for a blue-collar guy like me on a good day, but here, it feels even more like a noose.
It’s a symbol of how trapped Lucian has me, the feeling tightening with every minute that goes by without a plan.
In addition, the energy it’s taken to avoid watching Romy for the rest of the evening since returning from the bathroom has damn near depleted me, and no matter how twisted it may sound, I’m relieved to have her and the rest of the women on their way to be locked in their rooms.
A precaution—along with having a gofer security guard outside each and every single door, my uncle explained earlier—that is taken to keep the men from losing control and sullying the women or their blood by claiming it too soon.
Because a sense of propriety and moral conscience here are not enough in a group of wild animals.
There are no words to describe the depravity they flaunt as tradition. There are no words to describe the damage I want to do because of it.
“Gentlemen!” my uncle calls over the din of discussion among the others. “Please, if everyone could convene for just a moment, we’d like to go over some housekeeping business about tomorrow night and the auction itself.”
Taking a sip from my bourbon, I linger to the side while the others make their way toward the Council members, who are all lighting cigars and taking celebratory puffs like they’ve just signed a multimillion-dollar corporate contract or welcomed a baby into the family.
Cassian, Nathanial, and Ronan pull their own cigars from their pockets and light up, having been through the selection process before and obviously knowing it was coming.
I swallow around a knot in my throat and do my best to listen for Romy—to hear anything I can from her room—but come up empty.
The seclusion of the women, I suppose, is a technique born of years of practice as well. Most rebellions find their strength in numbers, and if they’re alone, they’ll do a hell of a lot less talking. I don’t know how many other vampires here have a gift like mine, but I’m not naïve enough to assume I’m unique.